


Existentialism on Prom Night

by cherryvanilla



Series: Glycerine [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You would kill for this, just a little bit.”  Or, the first time Arthur stays out past curfew in order to have a series of other firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Existentialism on Prom Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Harlequincepted prompt: First Times. Sequel to …Slowdance on the inside. Both stories take place in 1996.
> 
> Title and Lyrics by Straylight Run.

((___________________________))

Arthur wants to write a song about this. Craves to hold his guitar in his hands and attempt a melody to coincide with the thrumming of his heart. He’s in Eames’ dorm room and he’s lost track of how long they’ve been making out on the bed. All Arthur knows for sure is he’s harder than ever, his cock straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

They’re locked in a tangle of limbs. Eames’ leg is thrown over Arthur almost casually as he presses Arthur back into the pillows. Eames fingers skim lightly up and down Arthur’s sides as he noses against fabric of Arthur’s T-shirt at his neck, sucking softly at the exposed skin there. Eames thrusts against him lightly, and Arthur can feel his cock hard against his thigh.

"You smell bloody fantastic,” Eames sighs, running his tongue upward, slowly, pausing at the skin under Arthur’s ear to nip. Arthur hands clench in short strands of Eames’ hair and surges upward, morphing their movements into something desperate and clumsy. Eames rides it out with him, groaning softly and biting at Arthur’s ear lobe.

‘CK One,” Arthur grits out.

Eames’ laughter is a low rumble and the sound makes Arthur shiver. “How progressive of you.”

“Mmh,” Arthur grunts, a little slighted that Eames seems to be maintaining his higher brain functioning while Arthur’s struggling to string two words together. Frustrated, Arthur lets his hand slide down to Eames’ hip and, slowly, nervously, inches his hand between their bodies to squeeze lightly at Eames’ erection. His heart thuds in his chest as Eames goes completely still over him, staring with wide, dark eyes. Arthur licks his lips unconsciously, utterly focused on the unfamiliar heat of a jean clad erection against his palm that wasn't his own. Desperately, he hopes he didn’t fuck something up; until this moment they’ve never touched each other below the waist.

((___________________________))

This is their third date but the first time he’s been at Eames’ dorm for an extended period of time.

On their first date they went to a diner. Arthur was relieved. It’s not that he didn’t want to sit close together in a darkened movie theater with Eames. It’s that he actually wanted to talk to this gorgeous guy and know they could hold a conversation. Arthur supposed he was odd in that regard. And Eames could hold a conversation all right – could talk to Arthur about movies and music and school and British politics while Arthur tried not to hang on his every word like they were the most interesting sentences he’s ever heard formed. Eames had driven him home and kissed him, longer than the spin-the-bottle kiss. It made Arthur’s arms shake slightly, the constant brush of tongue and how wet it all was. Arthur hated that it was only his second real kiss ever. He hated that when Eames pulled back he must have looked dumbstruck. Eames laughed, but it wasn’t callous, rubbed his fingers across Arthur’s cheek and said, “You’re something, you know.”

Their second date had been the movie theater, complete with heightened sexual tension and Eames’ hand inching over, fingers curving lightly above his knee. The evening ended again in Eames’ car, where they made out in the front seat, bodies turned into one another, but separate; Eames only touched his neck, his hair, and his shoulders. He held Arthur’s jaw lightly, licking impossibly deep into his mouth until gasping out, “ _fuck_ , you should go.” Arthur stuttered out a breath, looked at the time and reluctantly agreed. He tied his flannel shirt around his waist and walked into his living room with red lips, too matted hair and an impossible erection which he’d hoped was hidden by the fabric. His sister still smirked at him.

((___________________________))

It’s their third date proper but it isn’t the third time they’ve seen one another. There had been a handful of group outings. For instance, the bowling alley with Dom, Dom’s sister, Mal, Ariadne and Yusuf. Eames rested his arm across the back of the plastic seats near Arthur’s shoulder, reached out and touched the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades. When Arthur got up to bowl he felt Eames’ fingers trail down his back.

Another time had been in Dom’s single dorm room. They played Super Mario and Trouble and Eames had pinned Arthur against the carpet at one point, tickling him and kissing him until he gasped for air, not caring who saw. Ariadne pulled him aside late to say she was really happy for him. It made his stomach jump and when he arched his neck to Eames to find a blinding smile, he just turned back to her and said, “I’m in so deep, Ari.”

That was also the first night he saw Eames’ room. Eames had nonchalantly asked if he wanted to take a look before he drove him home. Arthur said sure and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t thudding out of his chest. When they arrived Eames’ roommate was watching TV in his boxers, looking incredibly comfortable. Arthur glanced quickly at Eames, catching a flash of irritation which morphed into disappointment. Arthur himself felt a mixture of relief and regret. Eames made a grand show of introductions and giving Arthur the ‘tour’, all jovial smiles and one-liners but Arthur knew better.

When they were back in the hall, Eames bit his lip and said, “Sorry bout that.” Arthur told him not to worry.

When they reached Arthur’s street, Arthur asked Eames to stop the car a few houses away. Eames looked at him with a small knowing smile and an arched eyebrow. Except Arthur made Eames move first, made Eames slide a hand into his hair and take his chin between two fingers and press soft kisses against his lips until Arthur opened up beneath him. Arthur clutched Eames’ shoulders, sighed against his lips, brushed their tongues together all while Eames kept one hand in his hair and the other splayed at the base of his neck. Eames kissed Arthur for what seemed like an eternity; until his lips felt raw and his skin prickled with need. When they finally broke apart, they were both panting and, Arthur noted, definitely hard.

“I should go,” Arthur breathed, his voice thick with want.

“Yeah,” Eames said and Arthur never heard him sound like that before, voice deep and rumbly, like he’d been screaming until his throat had gone sore; it did something to Arthur’s insides. Eames kissed him once more, a little this side of desperate.

“I’ll call you,” Arthur said, feeling ridiculously young for not wanting to exit the damn car.

Eames traced his lips with his thumb and Arthur nearly groaned at the dark look in his eyes. “Please do.”

Arthur couldn’t help thinking what else he could get Eames to say ‘please’ to. He left the car before he never would. Eames smiled at him through the window and Arthur thought about the curve of his lips when he jerked off that night.

The next day when Arthur called, Eames invited him over to his dorm room. Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before managing, “yes.”

((___________________________))

Eames was staring at him now, his pupils blow wide, gaze flickering to Arthur’s hand brushing the outline of his cock.

“We doing this then?” Eames asks, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged over hot coals. His eyes are dark with arousal, for Arthur, all for Arthur.

“Thought we already were,” Arthur says, a little defiantly, even though his palms are sweating and he’s calculating how quickly he can run to the door if Eames decides this isn’t worth it.. if..

“Come here,” Eames growls, kissing Arthur hard and rolling them so Arthur’s on top, his elbow crashing into the wall. Arthur can’t feel it though, because Eames’ hands are squeezing his ass, grinding Arthur against him in a slow, maddening pace. Arthur’s leg slips between Eames’ thighs and he licks deep into Eames’ mouth. Eames moans against his lips and then he’s struggling out from under Arthur.

“Hold on a tick,” Eames says; gasps, actually. Arthur watches him stand on unsteady legs and is suddenly, immensely, pleased with himself. Eames locks the door and then crosses to the cassette player, dropping something in and snapping it shut. Arthur takes the moment to run his hands through his hair and exhale loudly. A second later Eames is back in his arms, smiling crookedly and fitting their bodies together. Arthur vaguely notices the first strands of ‘Snakedriver’ by Jesus and Mary Chain. It warms his heart a little at first then he finds it ridiculous to be excited over Eames playing music for this moment.

It’s a filthy song with a throbbing beat and it sets a dirty pace. Arthur wonders if Eames has fucked to it before, but pushes the thought out of his mind. He runs his hands over Eames’ broad shoulders and twists his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Eames pulls him so he’s on top again and raises a hand to brush Arthur’s hair out of his eyes. Arthur’s heart stops. Eames seems to have that effect on him. Eames tugs him down so their mouths are a breath apart and Arthur pauses. “What about your roommate?”

Eames runs a hand up the inside of Arthur’s thigh. “Told him to bugger off for the night.”

Then Eames locks his arms around Arthur’s upper back and kisses him until he’s gasping and panting, mouthing wetly along the stubble at Eames’ jaw line. Eames arches up and maneuvers them so they’re side by side again with Arthur crowded against the wall. Their erections brush, Eames knocking Arthur’s thighs apart with his leg.

The song in the tape deck morphs into Ride. Arthur can’t remember the title, but it’s tinny and dreamy and Arthur loses himself in it and the taste of Eames’ minty breath. He kisses the line of Eames’ jaw. “Thought this was The Sound of Speed..”

Eames chuckles throatily. “No, but you get ridiculous points for knowing what that is. Just a mix..” he trails off. Arthur senses something off in his tone and wants to comment further. Except it’s probably a ‘fucking mix’ and, honestly, he doesn’t want to know the number of guys Eames has brought up here and played this for. The thought makes his stomach clench enough though he knows it’s ridiculous. Eames lifts his chin with his thumb, watching him with intent eyes. “Kiss me,” he breathes and Arthur does, slipping a hand under Eames’ shirt at the hem, pushing the small of his back forward until their hips slot together. Eames moans and rolls Arthur against the wall, grinding against him in a sharp rhythm.

Eames’ hand makes for the zipper of Arthur’s jeans and Arthur tenses automatically. Eames had been mouthing down his neck, but pauses now to look at him searchingly. Arthur bites his lips and he knows how flushed he must be and how wide his eyes are; he wishes he wasn’t so transparent. After all, he took it to this level. Eames raises a hand to his cheek. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Arthur clears his throat, but still sounds ragged. “’m good.”

Eames quirks his head to the side, eyes calculating. “Arthur – we don’t..”

Arthur ducks his head, shaking it hard. “I want to.” He doesn’t know how to explain that this has nothing to do with him not wanting it. He wants it more than anything, wants Eames to never stop touching him. It’s just that – what if he totally sucks at this?

Eames tilts his chin up, so gently Arthur nearly melts against him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Eames promises, his voice low and filthy yet still so soft.

Arthur’s cock twitches against Eames’ thigh. Christ, that isn’t the problem. He tries to convey it as best he can without embarrassing himself too much. “You too. I uh, hope.”

Arthur raises his eyes then to meet Eames’ straight on. He didn’t expect Eames to shake his head, eyes a little sad. “You really don’t know how fucking gorgeous you are, do you?”

Arthur inhales sharply when Eames takes his hand and fits it against the bulge in his jeans. He moves Arthur’s hand up and down lightly, staring at him head-on. “This is what you’re doing to me. I’ve nearly come three times already.”

Arthur closes his eyes and whimpers; Eames releases his hand and Arthur continues to move it up and down, feeling a leap of flesh beneath the offending denim. Tentatively, he brings his fingers to the button.

“I love that you don’t know,” Eames gasps. “I love that you have no bloody clue.”

The words cause Arthur to seize with emotion. He always thought shyness and general self-consciousness would be a turn-off; thought people wanted assertiveness and confidence in their partners. Arthur would have been, he thinks, if things had gone differently when he was younger. If he’d actually been touched or had someone interested in him before he was 16 years old and not left to wonder if he was some kind of freak. He’s confident in every other aspect – but that, that did a number on his psyche.

Eames jerks in his arms and buries his face in Arthur’s neck. “God, please.” His mouth is wet against Arthur’s skin, his lips too hot. Arthur pops the button open, and works on sliding the zipper down with shaky hands. Eames groans loudly, his fingers groping at Arthur’s back and pulling him impossibly closer, making it harder for Arthur to pull the zipper down fully.

“Wait,” Arthur breathes, and pushes at Eames’ chest. Eames releases’ a high whine but allows Arthur to maneuver him backward. Arthur hurriedly slides the remainder of the zipper down, takes a breath, and reaches in to palm Eames through his boxers. He feels the silkiness of head poking out. Before he can wrap his hand around it Eames is shimmying his jeans off and reaching for Arthur with a growl. They kiss open mouthed and hungry while Eames fumbles at Arthur’s jeans, pushing them down to his ankles.

Arthur reaches for Eames’ Slowdive shirt, pulling it up and off. While he loves Eames’ taste in music he kinda hates when Eames wears band shirts. Selfishly, he wants to see what’s happening beneath the fabric.

Eames takes the shirt out of his hand and throws it across the room. He slips his hand into Arthur’s boxers and Arthur cries out, sharply. He never thought Eames’ hand would feel this good, strong and sure and working him in a way he doesn’t even do to himself. They’re back on their sides and Eames arches into him when Arthur finally curls shaking fingers around his cock. Arthur can’t believe they haven’t fallen out of Eames’ twin bed yet; he knows his elbows are going to have bruises.

Arthur vaguely notices the song shift while caught up in the kinetic movement of their hands and bodies surging together. It’s Jesus and Mary Chain again; Eames is nothing if not consistent. Arthur bites his lip and feels sweat pooling near his eyes while Eames sucks at his collarbone. It’s another dreamy song and Jim’s voice fills the room that’s otherwise accented with the slap of their flesh and their unsteady breathy moans. They’re wrapped up in one another now, Eames’ leg across Arthur’s hips, their hands working in an unsteady rhythm. Eames is swallowing Arthur’s moans with his lips and dragging his teeth along his collar bone. Arthur feels his body start to tense as Eames thumbs the head of his cock.

Arthur’s own hand is taking in the silky heat of Eames, the ridges and unfamiliar foreskin. His fingers trail down to skim over Eames’ balls. Eames moans against his neck and then Arthur hears Eames sing gravely, “youuuu and me,” and smiles shakily. It slips off his face immediately though because that’s when Eames shifts out of his arms, ducking to take Arthur in his mouth. Arthur’s hip lurch on their own accord and his hand flails across his forehead.

“Oh my _god_..”

Eames blows him hard and fast without preamble. Arthur had already been on the verge and it doesn’t take long; he grunts and curls his fingers against the base of Eames’ skull in warning. Eames just lets him slip out until he’s only mouthing the head. Arthur gives up and comes with a long, low whine chased by Eames’ name while Jim sings, “there’s something good about you.” He watches through lidded eyes as Eames licks him up and wipes at his mouth with a slight grin.

Eames is in his arms again instantly, and Arthur’s hand automatically drops to pull at his cock. Eames takes Arthur’s lips in a needy kiss and Arthur moans when he realizes he's tasting himself in Eames' mouth. “Arthur,” he says. “Arthur, Arthur,” and Arthur works him faster just to hear his name fall on breathy sighs, just to hear the pounding of his heart as they press tightly together. He feels Eames’ body tense and then warm spurts coat his fingers. Eames breathes sharp and wet against Arthur’s cheek, his body falling flush on top of his, boneless.

They lay there kissing lazily for long moments, hands touching skin, tickling and giggling, until Arthur looks at the clock. ‘Fuck, it’s midnight.”

“Mmm,” Eames says from where he’s kissing down his chest and licking over one nipple. "So?”

“My curfew is 11:00,” Arthur mumbles, feeling his cheeks redden and his stomach twist.

Eames moves up into his arms. He slides a hand through Arthur’s too damp hair, cradling the back of head and letting fingers brush along his scalp. It’s soothing and Arthur snuggles into it. “I’ll take you back,” he says softly, almost somberly. Arthur realizes, startlingly, that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

He kisses Eames’ collarbone, rubbing the skin lightly with his lips. “Sorry, this is like. Pathetic.”

Eames combs his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “S’not. I don’t mind. I mean, well, I do. Because I’d rather have you here… but I don’t mind that you’re in high school.”

Arthur smiles against Eames’ skin and closes his eyes for long minutes, just reveling in the feel of Eames’ fingers on his scalp until he wills himself to move.

((___________________________))

It’s a replay of their previous dates, except Arthur’s skin is buzzing not with need but with sated pleasure; except now he’s leaving without having to wonder what Eames’ hands would feel like on his body or what Eames’ mouth would feel like on his cock.

They’ve been shooting each other sly smiles since leaving the room. Now, though, Eames kills the engine so it doesn’t draw further attention and looks over at Arthur with a slightly serious expression. Arthur’s stomach drops and he’s preparing himself for the, ‘this has been nice but I got what I wanted’ moment that he’s heard horror stories about from Ariadne’s friends. But this is Eames and maybe they’ve only known each other for a little over a month but ---

“I’m rather mad for you,” Eames says in a rush, eyes scanning Arthur’s face. Arthur wonders if his heart can outright stop due to the number of times it’s flipped over since he met Eames. He knows he’s smiling so wide right now he could blind Eames even in the darkness of the car. _Stupid, he thinks, I’m so stupid_. “Um. Yeah, same here.”

Arthur thinks he sees something like relief in Eames’ eyes but can’t analyze the thought further because he’s being pulled into an embrace and kissed until his chest swells with an intensity he can’t quite comprehend.

“I’ll phone you tomorrow,” Eames says when they part. Arthur nods shakily and reaches for the door handle.

“Arthur,” Eames says, voice serious again. He turns to find him fidgeting with something in his jacket pocket before pulling it out. “Here. Made this for you.”

Arthur takes the cassette and scans over it briefly, taking note of first few familiar songs. It’s the mix from Eames’ dorm room; he can hardly breathe.

“So. G’nite.”

He looks at Eames, taking note that he appears a shade uncomfortable.

Arthur leans across the seat and hugs him on impulse, kissing beneath his ear. “Thank you.” He doesn’t look back at Eames when he gets out but he can feel his eyes on him. He smiles all the way to his door, flipping the plastic case over and over in his hand and hears the car start up and start to pull away. Then he thinks better of it and climbs in through his bedroom window.

He’s quiet enough, entering, and if he’s not he honestly doesn’t care. He shakes out of his jacket and switches on the book light over his bed. Aside from the three songs he already heard tonight the mix contains mostly late 80’s, early 90's shoegaze with some alternative mixed in. Arthur runs his thumb over the last song title, barely acknowledging that it’s misspelt. Glycerine. He knows it’s ridiculous to get so happy over Eames remembering. Regardless, it doesn’t stop Arthur from flopping down onto his bed and staring at his ceiling of stars. He clutches the cassette to his chest and smiles until his cheeks hurt. Then he does it some more.

[end]


End file.
